


In Which It Takes A Magic Spell For Dean And Cas To Get Their Shit Together

by IAmSorry__sendmeaprompt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Cooks, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Mild Angst, Possibly slightly dubcon kissing to break the spell, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, True Love's Kiss, but they're both okay in the end it's all good, sam and dean are platonic soulmates, which is exactly zero help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27088579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmSorry__sendmeaprompt/pseuds/IAmSorry__sendmeaprompt
Summary: Dean accidentally becomes infected with a love potion, and it physically hurts when he's apart from his romantic soulmate... who is apparently Cas. It takes True Love's Kiss to break the spell, but will our boys be able to handle the aftermath?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 14
Kudos: 181





	1. Dean Gets Himself Hurt And Sam Tries To Help

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilith_wnchstr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilith_wnchstr/gifts).



> Not sure if this is what you wanted exactly but hey Christmas!
> 
> Also Cas has to kiss Dean in order to stop the pain he’s in, and he doesn’t ask permission. Dean is too out of it to give consent, but I promise it’s okay and they’re both into it.
> 
> Disclaimer: not my characters, not my show, I own nothing, I’m just playing with them

Logically, Dean knew that the storerooms in the Bunker were full of all kinds of dangerous stuff, and logically, Dean knew that he should probably be wearing protective gear, but the protective gear itched and he hadn’t died yet, so he was sure it was gonna be okay.  
  
Because yep, it was a week until Christmas, and they had actual friends that were gonna be coming by for an actual Christmas dinner, a real one, and Dean was in a constant state of child-like wonder and excitement.  
  
And then Sam has decided that before they could have guests, they needed to make sure that there was nothing lying around that could potentially kill said guests. So, cleaning and organizing it was.  
  
Dean was doing the cleaning and organizing.  
  
Sam was doing the peering at things, and muttering under his breath, and consulting giant tomes until he figured out what each thing was, and then writing labels and entering information into the giant database he was creating.  
  
So, Dean’s brother might have been a bit of a geek.  
  
Cas had been helping, until Sam sent him off to find a lead-lined box to store some ancient Sumatran carving in, at which point he’d poofed out.  
  
Dean wasn’t sure what was wrong with the Sumatran carving, but he hoped it wasn’t radioactive. He’d been holding that for a full five minutes.  
  
So for hours things went on like that. Everything they didn’t know for sure was benign was researched, catalogued, and carted down to Storeroom C, which Dean had put a lot of effort into cleaning.  
  
It had taken a lot of cleaning.  
  
There were spiderwebs. And dust, and dirt, and some weird greasy grimy stuff he didn’t want to think about.  
  
There had also been broken glass, which he was having trouble not thinking about, because there was a gash across the palm of his hand thanks to it.  
  
So Dean was poking around in the room that was currently being cleared, that they were hoping to house Kevin in over Christmas, because Kevin was living with his mom and was about to graduate high school, and Dean was so proud of him for finding that obscure spell to block the effects of being a prophet...  
  
Dean, lost in thoughts of the young man who’d successfully escaped the hunter’s life, didn’t notice the corner of his jacket catching on a small vial, knocking it to the floor.  
  
Then he heard the crash of the stone vial breaking, and had a split second to think that Sam was gonna be so, so pissed at him for breaking that, and then there was glittery liquidy smoke swirling around him.  
  
He swatted at it, which in retrospect probably wasn’t the smartest thing he could’ve done. He was staring at the last few inches of it disappearing into the cut on his hand when Sam skidded around the doorway, face a mask of horror.  
  
Well shit, Dean thought, there goes Christmas. Then he dropped like a sack of potatoes.  
  
***  
  
He woke up in the dungeon, chained to a chair. Sam was sitting with his back against the wall, poring over a large book.  
  
Dean groaned. No response. Dean coughed. Still no response. After the third rattle of his chains, Sam looked up guiltily. “Hey, man. Glad you’re awake.”  
  
Dean glared at him, and rattled the chains again.  
  
“Sorry. It’s just a precaution.” Sam ran a hand through his hair, leaving behind a haphazard mess. He looked stressed. Dean wondered how long he’d been out.  
  
“You’ve been unconscious for twelve hours. Exactly. Now, based on the markings I could see on the unbroken parts of that vial, and the makeup of the stone, and what the potion looked like when it, uh, entered you, I’m guessing it’s this.” He spun the book around and held it up in front of Dean.  
  
“Just tell me what it does, Sammy, my Latin is rusty. Being tied to a chair impedes my reading abilities.”  
  
Sam fixed him with a severe look. “I could’ve gagged you, too. Be grateful. Anyway, it looks like a love potion.”  
  
Dean snorted and rolled his eyes.  
  
“A very potent one. There’s records of it being used from the Middle Ages up through 1859, when the Men of Letters killed the only sorceress who knew how to create it.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes again, then announced “I’m rolling my eyes, in case you couldn’t tell,” just to be sure Sam got the message.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, you don’t think love potions are real. Anyway, this one remains dormant until you come face-to-face with your,” Sam’s nose wrinkled, “soulmate. Then it, uh, burns you from the inside out.”  
  
“Well, that’s fantastic.” Dean couldn’t have knocked over a different, less weird vial? Come on. “How do we get rid of it?”  
  
“That’s the hard part.”  
  
“Oh, _that’s_ the hard part. Great. Wonderful. Because the rest of it has been so freaking easy.”  
  
“I’m gonna unchain you, because you’re obviously not turning into a rabid beast, and I’m gonna hope that you remember I was nice and freed you before you punch me for this.” And Sam unlocked the manacles.  
  
Dean punched him.  
  
Sam stumbled backward, clutching at his nose. “Okay, I deserved that one. Anyway. To break the curse, you’re gonna need true love’s kiss.”  
  
Dean punched him again, in the stomach this time. Sam held his hands up in defeat. “It’s in the book! The soulmate has to kiss you!”  
  
Dean, breathing heavily, backed off. “Aren’t we like, platonic soulmates or something? Our Heaven is the same thing.”  
  
Sam sighed. “I did some research regarding soulmates. The Men of Letters believed that people had a platonic and a romantic soulmate. We’re platonic. You need the romantic one.”  
  
Dean squinted at him suspiciously, then sat down again. “Let’s just hope we never run into the poor girl, and leave it at that. Now, am I cleared to go start defrosting the Christmas turkey?”  
  
Sam nodded slowly, keeping a safe distance. Probably thought he was going to get punched again. Dean was considering it; Sam knew how much manacles freaked him out. Then, in keeping with the Christmas spirit, Dean decided to forgive his brother.  
  
They settled into a comfortable rhythm for the rest of the day, Sam updating his database and Dean bustling around the kitchen planning Christmas dinner. They were expecting Kevin, Kevin’s mom, Garth, Bobby, and Charlie, he mentally tallied up. He should probably make a quart of cranberry sauce, and maybe roast a ham.  
  
He was nesting, so sue him. Dean liked cooking, Dean liked having a kitchen, and a Dean liked having people to cook for. Sam had made a crack about his masculinity once, and had gotten whapped with a spatula for his trouble.  
  
Dean made a mental note to pick up some more sweet potatoes, then heard the tell-tale flutter of Cas returning. “Hey, man,” he said, turning to greet the angel.  
  
Then pain exploded behind his ribs and he fell to the ground.  
  
Through mostly closed eyes, Dean could see Cas rushing toward him as he curled around himself, desperate for a way to stop the burning.  
  
He was whimpering, Dean realized, and promptly stopped. Cas knelt beside him and stroked his spine, calling for Sam. Dean couldn’t help but notice that whenever Cas touched him, the pain eased a little bit.  
  
So, Cas was his soulmate. Go figure.  
  
Sam hurried into the kitchen and knelt at Dean’s other side. The burning was settling down, becoming manageable, so Dean struggled to sit up. Cas braced him reassuringly, and Dean smiled at him.  
  
By the time Sam had explained the situation, the burning sensation was gone completely, and Dean was starting to wonder if he was cured just like that.  
  
Then Cas got up to get him a glass of water, and oh shit here it came. Dean closes his eyes and gritted his teeth, and then soft lips were brushing against his, and the burning was gone, and he went limp, and then Cas was gone too.  
  
Well, that wasn’t ideal.


	2. In Which There Is A Metric Fuckton Of Fluffiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teeny tiny bit of angst at the beginning but really this is overwhelming fluff. And everyone is alive, because I said so, and everyone is happy, and there are cuddles and forehead kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like it!

Five and a half hours later, not that Dean was counting, Cas came back. He sat across the table from Sam and Dean, who were using their combined but still sketchy knowledge of Sanskrit to decode a label on what looked like a mountain goat’s horn but probably wasn’t.

Dean looked up at Cas, who was fidgeting with his trench coat. “Hey, soulmate. Thanks for saving me.”

Cas nodded jerkily. “Of course, Dean. Although I must apologize.” He started to say something else, but fell silent. Sam scootched his chair a little bit away from Dean, just in case his brother started flailing around. 

“Why apologize, huh? For the vanishing act you pulled right after we discovered we’re apparently meant for each other or some shit?” Dean’s voice was getting louder, and he was halfway to standing. “Because I understand if you don’t want me, hell why would you, but you could at least have said so!”

Cas’ head had snapped up, and he was staring at Dean in horror. “Dean, no, that is not- I don’t- I do want you, Dean. We are soulmates; we were made for each other.” 

Somewhat placated, Dean sat down. “Then why did you leave?”

“Yeah, Cas,” Sam chimed in, “You swept him off his feet and left. Ya know, both involved parties usually go on the honeymoon.” Then he yelped in pain as Dean stomped on his foot. 

“I left because I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me anymore,” Cas said softly. “It was only your nearly unceasing prayers since then that brought me back.” 

Dean wasn’t sure what part of that statement he should be fixating on, but “I was praying to you?”

“Yes. Oftentimes you do not realize you’re doing it.”

“Right, okay. So why didn’t you think I’d want you around?”

“Because I kissed you.”

Huh? Of all the things Dean was expecting to hear, that wasn’t it. “Yeah. You’re my soulmate. You kissed me to break the spell, and save my life, and oh god I’m living in a fairytale.”

Sam elbowed him and motioned toward Cas, who was still looking despondent. “Focus, Dean. Fairytale later.”

“I kissed you without asking permission first, and for that I am deeply sorry. Dean, can you ever forgive me?” Cas wasn’t meeting his eyes. 

“Dude. I was delirious with pain. I wasn’t coherent enough to talk to you if you had asked.”

Cas flinched like Dean had hit him, so Dean hurried to say “And I’m really glad you did, man. I mean, you had to to save me. It’s not your fault.”

“Okay,” and Cas shyly brought his hand up to cover Dean’s on the table. 

Dean gave his angel’s fingers a reassuring squeeze, “I really wouldn’t mind if you ever, y’know, wanted to do it again sometime either.”

Cas met his eyes, and Sam pushed his chair back from the table with a decisive screech. “Right, that’s my cue to go keep, erm, clearing stuff out. Bye. Be safe.” And he was gone. 

“Dean. We should probably go help your brother, to make sure the Bunker is ready for guests.”

Dean decided that Bunker-cleaning was much more fun when he got Cas kisses in between jobs. 

***

The week passed in a blur of activity, and before Dean knew it, it was Christmas Eve. He rolled out of bed early that morning, and headed directly to the kitchen. The turkey needed to be prepared, and he should really roast the ham as soon as possible. 

Sam was still snoring away when Dean padded past his room, barefoot and in pajama pants. He’d change later. 

He was well on his way to getting the turkey in the oven, and was considering doing stuffing next, when an adorably sleep-rumpled Cas wandered into the kitchen and slumped down at the table. 

Dean pushed a cup of coffee toward him, watching as Cas smiled at the bumblebees painted on the mug. Dean had thought of Cas when he’d seen it at a farmer’s market Sam had dragged him to, and now he was glad he’s gotten it. 

He deftly wound a string around the turkey’s legs, trussing it up thoroughly, and started to rub the honey-mustard mixture into it’s skin. Cas watched the quick movements of his hands, fascinated. 

“You are very good at this, Dean.” He observed, and Dean ducked his head bashfully. 

“Yeah, well. I like cooking.” He popped the turkey in the oven and yanked the ham out of the fridge. “If you’re awake, there’s a pile of potatoes and a peeler over there with your name on it.”

Cas chuckled, standing up and heading toward his work station. As he walked behind Dean, he gave him a quick hug, and pressed a gentle kiss to the nape of his neck. Dean arched backward into the touch. 

“Hey, get back here and kiss me properly.” Cas did, and Dean leaned into his angel, relishing the warmth of the solid body he was resting against. 

They went about their individual tasks in contented silence for a while, then Sam stumbled in. He made grabby hands at the coffee until Dean stopped grating ginger and poured him a cup. 

He drained it in about two gulps, then went off to deal with the knock on the door that they’d just heard. 

Kevin and Linda Tran walked in, followed closely by one Charlie Bradbury. Charlie and Kevin were in deep discussion about the psychological advantages of playing different characters while LARPing. Dean raised an eyebrow, but let them be. There was time enough to talk later. 

Sam trailed Charlie and Kevin into the sitting room and was quickly incorporated into the conversation. Linda put their respective bags in the newly cleaned rooms, then joined Dean and Cas in the kitchen. Dean promptly put her to work peeling and slicing apples to make a pie, while he himself worked on the crust. 

Standing at the stove, Cas calmly scooped his peeled potatoes into a pot and set them to boil, then readied the potato masher (Dean suppressed his inner squeal of glee at the possession of a potato masher) and the bowl the potatoes would go in. 

The ham was in the oven and the pie was ready to go in when it came out, and they were all sitting around the table catching up, when Bobby and Garth arrived together. 

An exclamation went up, and hugs were given all along. Garth was somewhat subdued from his usual cheer, a fact attributed to the sling his arm was in. “Tore up my shoulder and broke my arm,” he said once he was settled in and holding a mug of cider in his good hand, “hunting some kind of giant mutant octopus over in Oklahoma.”

Dean barely restrained himself from making a tentacle joke. 

Then the oven timer went off, and both he and Cas stood up. “I got it, babe,” Dean said as he rushed to the kitchen. When he returned, most of the table was looking at either him or Cas. 

Oh. 

“So you two finally got it together,” Charlie said. 

Kevin murmured in agreement. 

“You mean you two weren’t together when we first met?” Linda asked in surprise. 

Dean mumbled a response and slid into his seat, taking a healthy swig of cider. Garth clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m happy for ya, man. How’d it happen?”

The love potion story carried them through to the evening hours, at which point the table was set and the food brought out. Bobby thanked them again for moving Christmas Dinner to Christmas Eve so he could attend, and they all dug in. 

After dinner, Bobby left for his ‘prior engagement’, which Sam speculated was going to be spending Christmas proper with Ellen if he could get there in time. 

A nightcap was had, and one by one, their guests retired to their rooms. Sam remained in the living room, bringing in wrapped presents and placing them under their somewhat pitiful tree. Dean and Cas, having placed their gifts days ago, sat on the couch and watched. 

Somehow, Dean found himself cuddled up against Cas’ chest, with the angel’s arm wrapped around him. He was cozy, and happy, and tired from cooking all day. He felt himself dozing off. 

He woke up a little bit when he was scooped up into strong arms and carried down the hallway. Recognizing that it was Cas carrying him, he hummed in contentment and snuggled closer to the man. 

Cas deposited him gently on his bed and drew the covers over him, then pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “Sleep well, Dean,” he said softly as Dean dropped off. 

***

The next morning, Dean was awake early. When he got to the kitchen, though, he found that it was already full of people. He smiled, taking in the sight of his ragtag, happy family. 

Then he groaned and headed for coffee. 

As soon as Cas saw him walk in, he was pressing a steaming mug into his hand. “Good morning, love,” his angel said fondly. 

“Morning, Cas,” and Dean found himself pulled into a kiss that tasted of coffee and love and _home_. 

“Merry Christmas, Dean.”


End file.
